Went swimming this morning. I used to take Olive to her swimming lessons, but work kind of got in the way so I've not seen her swim since September, and flipping heck is she good. Like a fish. A slightly sinking one, admittedly, but she can actually swim now. It's amazing. Luke loved trying his sister's goggles on. Made me laugh.
Good old Grandma and Pops got the children a joint present this year. We managed to leave it hidden under the tree until Saturday morning. No mean feat let me tell you. It's a cracker. You get a bubble machine and two magic wands that make increasingly urgent pinging sounds as you work your way to popping 20 bubbles and winning the game.
Grandma did issue strict instructions that it was an 'outside' toy.
The rug and floor in the frontroom are now lovely and clean.
Cuz, my oldest friend (I have some who are older, but none I have known as long), was in residence at his Kessingland home this week so we hacked into darkest Suffolk to spend a very pleasant morning with him and his family.
Kessingland is the oddest place (Olive calls it Cuzland and cracks up laughing at her joke), a proper baron, rundown seaside town. We've been visiting since they bought the place for an absolute snip almost seven years ago and always have a nice time. Don't think we've ever been in the summer! The house itself is wonderful, Victorian, three beds and a box room, open fire, big old enamel bath, and so on. All very homely and spitting distance from the sea.
Anyway, they're letting it out this year. Very reasonable rates if you fancy it. Let me know...
Caryn left today for a visit to Cape Town, her first since she was just, just, just pregnant with Olive in early 2001. It has been one of the saddest days I can remember. The children seemed fairly resilient, which is more than can be said for me and Caryn. Very sad. We hope she has a great time, but we can't wait to get her back safely.
She's safely in the air now and will touch down at Doha International early tomorrow morning, before picking up a flight to Cape Town, arriving early evening. It's certainly what you'd call the scenic route, taking in a 2,000 mile detour via Saudi Arabia thanks to the shonkiest travel agent in the world... who actually came recommended. The mind boggles.
Headed into town this morning to feed the ducks when it occurred that the hunt would passing through seeing as it was Boxing Day. I remember going to see the hunt when we lived in Grantham, no idea how old I was, less than nine though. The spectacle has always remained with me. I especially like how the hounds just run amok. Surely you need a lead for those, sir.
So, we got offered mulled wine and xmas cake while we waited, the kids got super bored, but eventually we got to see hounds running amok and listen to posh Tory twits using the event as a soapbox to whine about how hard it is being a farmer these days. Don't know about you, but our stables are a real strain on the old budget. If only we could kill foxes in such a spectacularly overblown manner again everything would be dandy.
Anyway, as a spectacle it is still brilliant and the hunt is as visceral as ever, despite the fact they won't be catching any foxes, nope, not them. Absolutely no fox killing today.
This is a pub. Was a pub. Not any old pub. This is the pub where I met Caryn. And without The Brunswick Arms, 25 Stamford Street, London SE1, there would be no Olivia and Luke.
We heard the sad news today that it has finally closed. The whole building used to be the headquarters for Sainsbury's, but they moved to Holborn years ago and sold the building off. Since then The Brunswick has hung in there, but seems that that's that. It's actually quite emotional. Didn't think it would be.
(**NOTE** I stand corrected. Seems Sainsbury's have moved to Holborn on a temporary basis while the Stamford Street site is re-developed in a £270m makeover. Lord Foster's firm is behind the new building, it's quite large. And, Stamford Street will finally get a Sainsbury's store. We could never figure why it didn't when the HQ was there. Anyway...)
In the area surrounding King's Reach Tower there are loads of pubs, loads, where you drank kind of depended on where you worked. The Stamford was the traditional music press haunt I guess, so when Melody Maker had a shift change in the late Nineties, we also needed our own pub.
The only pub around that you could actually get a seat in was The Brunswick. It was a tired, grubby place, it was dark and dingy. So we made it our own. It was Mark (nee Roland) who christened it The Caravan Park. I had my leaving do in there, in fact, I had two leaving dos in there. One Maker and one NME. And I went to hundred other leaving dos in there too.
The bar staff were cracking - Old ladies you wouldn't mess with. They were motherly, matronly, and they were led by Elaine, SE1's own Bet Lynch. Bless them all. Then in early 2000, they started hiring younger staff. Didn't quite seem right, but hey. There was Claire the student nurse, Kim, the traveller from Oz, and, in July 2000, a girl who knocked an entire pub for six.
I don't know if it was coincidence, but the arrival of Caryn saw our pub quite quickly became the pub of choice. Friday nights were absolute chaos, with the place packed to the rafters. It was one of these nights that I first spoke to my future wife. I bought her a drink at the end of the night. Might as well I thought, what I have I got to lose? And anyway, why would a girl like that look twice at a scruffy oik like me?
Ha!
And she short changed me. Anyway, it is an ex-pub, it has ceased to be. So, here's to Elaine and Hartley (he who talked like a seal and held Freemason meetings in the cellar bar), who were proper landlords. Weird, but proper all the same. Here's to everyone who shared a pint in the great place and to all the daft conversations and mad schemes hatched ('What about Ben, he's probably the new Editor of NME.'). I enjoyed every last second. Thanks for being such fantastic company.
But most of all, here's to my beautiful wife and our two wonderful children, none of who would be a part of my life without The Brunswick Arms, 25 Stamford Street, London SE1.
The day that Christmas officially comes to our house is the day we get the tree... which was today. Nice isn't it? Smells lovely too. And Lousie, in case she doens't mention it, Caryn found her wedding ring this morning, in a pile of clothes in the bedroom. It made her quite happy.
Olivia has been hard at work recently. Here is a special portrait of Caryn.
Every year, on this very night, parents head into town with their offspring in order to spend money on plastic things that light up. They do of course come fitted with Eastern Bloc AA batteries that last exactly as long as it takes to walk home...
Sorry, getting ahead of myself.
It was Dickensian Evening tonight, the night when the Xmas lights get switched on by Father Christmas. Yup. The whole town turns out and there's a small fair affair, and food stalls and so on and so forth. It's not quite as cute as it sounds, is it Louise?
There's an annual fuss about festive decor in Wymondham (or lack of) and this year's effort will be no exception. The word they'll be looking for is pfut.
We actually had a not bad time. Got there early, got out early and in between we won two bears and a couple of lollies on the Wymondham Lions stall, Santa's horse-drawn carriage pulled up alongside us, children had a ride on the teacups - you can see from the picture that one loved it, and one, well... you know.
You know how there was a view from the roof of my old job (last day Friday)? Well, I thought I shoud have one of the potential new job (first day, today). I biked up this road to work this morning. It felt quite good.
Riding home wasn't so clever. Pitch, pitch, black. Reminded me of Dylan Thomas' 'Under Milk Wood'? Starless and Bible black. It was darker than that.
Still.
And... I studied 'Under Milk Wood' for A Level English. It's set in the fictional Welsh village of Llareggub - and do you know, only now, 20-odd years on has the penny dropped. It's 'bugger all' spelt backwards. Duh. You couldn't get the teachers in those days.
Lukey headed out to a birthday party on Sunday. It's really nice that he's getting invite of his own and doesn't have to crash his sister's invites.
Anyway, he made a card for his pal and here he is modelling it. There's hope for him yet. It was a fantastic piece of work, with a little round blob for a mouth, which he is demonstrating in the pic.
It's a been a while since Olivia has returned from school with a load of drawings. Seems Year 1 is very different to reception - much more reading and writing, a lot less drawing and painting.
Last year we filled our entire hall wall with a raft of amazing art. Just before Olive went back to school in September, Caryn decided she'd take all the pictures down because we'd be getting a load of new ones... the wall is still pretty bare.
She draws like a loon when she's at home, but it's nice to get stuff back from school. Imagine how pleased we were when we were tossed these morsels last week. She's getting very good at drawing dogs...
Woke up to the sad news that Evel Knievel, a true legend, died yesterday aged 69. His family and friends seem genuinely surprised that he lasted as long as he did.
"It's been coming for years, but you just don't expect it," said long-time friend and promoter Billy Rundel. "Superman just doesn't die, right?"
At the risk of sounding all Hunter S, I was lucky enough to meet the great man in a bar at Ceasar's Palace, Las Vegas, the scene in 1969 of his notorious leap over the fountains outside. The 150 foot jump was good, the landing - as became his trademark - was spectacularly bad, leaving him in a coma for a month.
I was there with a band called 3 Colours Red, lovely people. We were sitting having a drink and there he was, sat at the bar in a black and white checked leather jacket, bourbon in one glass, purple medicine to stop his new liver giving up on him in another.
He could have told us clear off and leave him alone, but he seemed happy-ish to chat and signed about a dozen autographs.
Naturally, we asked him why he did what he did. "To stop the world dying from boredom," he drawled. It is as good a reason as any.
The world is a lesser place without him.
Quite enjoyed my stay, the view was good at least. And I've sort of half worked out how to post from my nice new phone which makes things easier... or not.
My contract in London is nearly up and I think the only thing I'll miss is meeting up with my little brother for drinks after work. Last Friday, we met up at the all-new St Pancras for no other reason than my train leaves from Kings Cross and it'd give us a bit more time.
But blimey, what a place. I used to travel in and out of the very down at heel St Pan quite often in my student days, boy has it changed. The rails aren't even in the same place. It's some feat of engineering.
If you ignore the Champagne bar full of posh twits freezing their twigs off, the place is quite breathtaking. Anyone arriving into London on the Eurostar can't fail to be wowed upon their arrival. Shame that they then have to step out into Kings Cross...
It's a stunning piece of work and when you think about it, this must have been the feeling the Victorian travellers had when they clambered off trains into these grand constructions.
There's even a resident hawk to keep the pigeons out.
Here she is just after her first birthday. Cute. Found a load of old pictures this morning which have filled me with even more love for our little girl. More soon!
Our blog is one today. Hadn't occurred until Landcroft House celebrated theirs the other week- and I just copied them. So, I've sort of been posting here for a whole year... hm. On and off, on and off. I think if you add up the number of posts... hang on.
114 posts. Now, by my reckoning that's some distance short of being able to celebrate a first birthday. Technically, I'd need at least five posts a week for that, 26o posts. Still, at least I'm trying, right? I do seem to stockpile pictures thinking they'll make it onto the blog, but never do. Must work out how to get pictures straight off the phone onto the blog, then I might be back in business.
We're celebrating a proper birthday tomorrow. Our little girl will be six. I don't know how that is possible, I can remember her being born like it was last week. Anyway, here's a couple of pics of her last day of being five. Luke just makes me laugh looking at him sometimes.
Yes, yes, 28 days straight without a single post. If you are reading this, thank you. Checking for signs of a new post for an entire month takes dedication. Thanks again, you must come round for dinner sometime.
So, Halloween already. Not my favourite of occasions, far too, what's the word? Annoying. But the children love it... this is them heading for the annual playgroup party. His costume was a massive hit. We thought everyone would go as Harry Potter. But nope, he was the only one. So, if you need a surefire hit for the countless fancy dress parties, we can throughly recommend it.
We're currently in the process of calling Olivia's bluff. She's been complaining that she can't hear properly for ages so we made an appointment the other week for a hearing test. It was all quite interesting, mostly to observe just how awkward she can be.
The test involved her wearing headphones and saying 'yes' when she could hear various noises played through them. On a number of occasions I could clearly hear the noises and she just sat there pretending she couldn't.
The woman who preformed the test was clearly used to the random whims of five-year-olds, declared the test inconclusive and referred us.
While we're at it, we thought, we'll make an appointment at the opticians. Lots of fun was had trying on glasses, but the fun soon evaporated when Olivia was confronted by the most straight-talking adult she's ever met. And he was having none of her nonsense.
Contrary were his words, come back in six months and let's see if she's any more co-operative. It was quite a shock for her. Next time we might see a different result.
Still, got a good picture of them both in daft glasses.
So, last weekend then.
You do kind of reach a point where the children just can't be in the house any longer. Or perhaps that's just our children. Anyway, we were up at 7am on Sunday and by 10.30am cabin fever had arrived.
So we were out of the house like a shot.
If you nip under the railway bridge by the station and follow the higgle piggle of 19th century weavers cottages, you'll find The Lizard, a whacking great meadow. It's owned by a trust for the benefit of the people of the town. Basically, it's a big bit of land that no-one can build a housing estate on. Which is fine by me.
So, as I've mentioned before, the town is celebrating the Abbey being 900 years old and art is very much on the agenda. As such, a plan was hatched to built three towers on The Lizard, the first of which opened in May. So we went to have a look...
I'm no art slouch - I have qualifications and everything, although I am very much lapsed - but this is a conceptutual piece, right? A wooden observation tower from which you can't see anything. Profound stuff. Actually, it's quite nice, it was built be Jony Easterby, whose work you can find here...
Anyway, the local freesheet had a great story last week about this boy, who along with his friends who had built a massive tree house in mum's back garden. It was a bolthole, a sleepover type place. Can't find the picture online, might have to dig it out of the bin, but here's the story.
They say it's cost them £30, with most of the materials being scavenged from various places.
Made me wonder how much the tower cost. I had a poke around and it's surprisingly difficult to find out... I did find the brief which has it at £200 a day x 31 days + £800 to 'facilitate community liaison' for 30 hours, ish, (ie, talk to school children, meet the mayor, etc) and £3,000 for fabrication, delivery and installation. Blimey eh?
That seems like a lot of cash doesn't it? Nice as it is, I'm not sure it's worth that sort of spend. I wonder if they got a quote from a local chippy? Personally, I'd like to have seen the tree house boys commissioned to build some in The Lizard.
I love listening to the radio, it's on most of the time burbling away in the background. This morning on Five Live, Victoria Derbyshire has been getting over excited about a 999 tape of a home birth.
It's just been on and, flipping heck, she wasn't kidding. It's amazing.
If you do one thing today, make eight minutes to listen to it. You'll find it here.
There's a fabulous moment, with his wife howling like she's, well, having a baby, and the guy says to here, 'Wait there...'
Brilliant.
The wife was in London this weekend visiting her sister so I was on duty, which is never anything less than an enlightening experience. Sorry about the unrelated picture. It's nice though isn't it? That's us up an expensive wooden tower in the middle of field...
Anyway, Olivia had her first tennis class (I hesitate to call it a lesson because I'm not entirely sure how much one man can teach 21 five-year-olds in an hour) and I have no idea if she liked it or not. As the wife points out, we'll only know next week by her reaction when we tell her it's tennis.
She's good like that - show no emotion, give nothing at all away. Don't know why. Lukey will literally jiggle up and down on the spot if he's excited by something. With Olivia it's so hard to tell. What chance do we stand, really.
I did learn that she is calling herself Olive, which should have been her real name had we not met with some parental resistance - not sure whose parents as both deny it now, but resistance there was otherwise we'd have done it.
So anyway, me and Luke were sat upstairs in this sports hall and we could hear the coach bellowing 'Olive' now and again. There could only be one person he was talking to. Quite why she's suddenly chosen to do this is anyone's guess.
She is a remarkable little girl, our daughter - very lovely, utterly infuriating, inspiring and a total pain in the bum, all in equal measures. What's she going to be like at 15?
In a strange moment, Olive asked if she could play football after school. It's strange because she doesn't strike us as the sporty type. She's the one in the yellow top, staring intently at the ball. Not sure if she'll stick at it, but she seemed to really enjoy it and actually scored a goal too.
It was a real poacher's goal, the way she tucked it away with a split second to think as it bobbled in front of her was Michael Owen in his prime. Well, you know.
There's loads of girls playing which is impressive, but it seems to make it much easier for the boys. Olive's pal William just spent the whole time ball-hogging and scoring goal after goal. His celebrations were impressive for a five-year-old.
... And because we don't think Olive seems all that sporty we've booked her in for tennis starting on Saturday morning. Parents eh?
On Sunday we headed to the coast in the hope of blowing away some cobwebs. Turns out it was August at the seaside - baking hot, glorious blue sky and us with a flask of coffee.
Funny old business weather. We've got a digital barometer in the kitchen - it's got a little man on it and he dresses for the appropriate weather. This morning he had his hat and scarf on. Day before yesterday the children were stripped off paddling in the sea, today it was scarfs on for the walk to school.
And now the sun's out and the sky is blue, but I'm not sure I'd have it any other way. It's part of being British isn't it? Interesting weather.
Other people might have two different words in mind after the goings-on of the last week. Very and drunk, hungover and extremely, four and tea. You know. So anyway, I've finally turned 40. Don't know how I've made it, but I have and as a few have pointed out, relatively unscathed too.
There was the party last weekend which was a success I think. Lots of children in the afternoon and early evening, me and Mr Knowles the last ones standing, or sitting down at least, at around 3am. Ish. I think I might have had a snooze in the hammock after Ben stumbled indoors, but was too drunk and can't quite remember.
Anyway, yesterday was the big day. 10 years since Diana's funeral and 10 years since I was 30. Heck eh? The wife served up a cracking present for a 40-year-old in the shape of Nintendo Wii. Top notch pressie. And you know what? 40 isn't that bad. It's like being 39, only you're 40.
I appreciate that I'm rambling now, but soak it up, it doesn't happen that often these days. To cut a long story short, I've been wanting to make some sort of homebrew for a while. We've had apple trees in the last three places we've lived so cider seems a good choice.
Thing is, I've always thought it's probably as hard to make cider as it is to make decent beer. So, after Cuz filled up a carrier bag from the trees last weekend and commented that we should make cider, I had a look online and it seems quite easy. Or at least straightforward.
So, I've invested my birthday cash in a small apple press and some other stuff required for making cider. It arrives on Tuesday. Excited. Overly.
It's the third day in a row that it's been sunny and not at all like winter so we thought we'd spoil ourselves... thing is, the rest of Norfolk had the same idea.
The good thing about Wells-Next-The-Sea is that the beach is huge so there's plenty of room for everybody. It's one of those amazing North Norfolk beaches which is a huge expanse of sand and sky. And when the tide's out you can even hear the sea let alone see it.
Fortunately, there's a great estuary left behind which is spot-on for the kids - not that Luke's bothered, he'd paddle in puddles if he could. So today we built sandcastles. Olivia's was spectacular as you can see. With no help from Caryn, it's such a girl castle - dainty and intricate with the swirling moat.
Bit different from the one me and Luke made which was entirely practical, plenty of thought given to repelling invaders with its deep moat and high walls as you can see.
Boys and girls then, neatly summed up in two sandcastles.
When we booked a couple of nights at Clippesby, months and months ago, we figured the weekend before August Bank holiday would be a banker...
The above picture should have been better - the four of us, drenched, stood in front of our tent. The children wouldn't get out the car though.
It was a double family trip, with our pals Simon and Louise and their three. I don't think we'll be seeing Simon in a tent again, ever. Sensible man. You can read what they've got to say about it all on their rather lovely blog, which is here... they seem to have stolen the march on blogging, and say things so much better than my rushed attempts these days.
Anyway, the weather wasn't the greatest from the moment we arrived on Saturday, but when we went to bed on Sunday night we thought we'd got away with it. We'd managed to dodge the showers, and cook and eat without getting soaked. Not much of a problem. Then, at 3am on Monday morning it started to rain. Properly.
It's now Thursday and the tent is hanging over the swing in the back garden, it's still as wet as it was on Monday morning.
I think I'm saving up for a camper van. A nice Hymer like this one. Anyone lend me £5k or so? That said, it's probably not a camper we need, it's an ark.
Yes, yes, I know. But this really is the very first chance I've had since Olive's tooth fell out back in July. We've been stupid busy. Stupid. So what happened? I'll apologise now for the lack of pics, I've more somewhere or other. I will find them... soon.
Briefly, on the day Olive's tooth fell out, we went to Montreux on a work-related Jazz Festival jolly. Left the children with Grandma and Pops and had a very rare weekend to ourselves. Got wined and dined very nicely. Were offered a 5kg lobster on the first night, how much? £400. Splutter.
Crossed Lake Geneva on a speedboat for lunch in Evian the following day, like you do, and supper was by invitation at the home of Claude Nobs, the founder of the festival. Apparently, every band playing in Montreux gets invited up to his gaff in the mountains. It is an utterly spectacular way to spend an evening.
He wasn't home when we were there, which made enjoying his hospitality a little surreal. There's so many great story about him, including how Deep Purple came up with 'Smoke On The Water' when one of the festival's venues burnt down following a flare being fired at Frank Zappa. He's the Funky Claude mentioned in the song.
Anyway, we came back to reality for a bit before we headed out on our hols to Wales. Caryn's dad's family are from Denbeigh and she wanted to head that way and spend some time in the land of her father... We even got a phrasebook for the utterly unfathomable language too. It remains utterly unfathomable.
So anyway, we decided to do a bit of a jaunt and try out a few places for a couple of nights, rather than the same place for a week. Worked a treat.
The wonderful Greenlooms Cottage B&B (pictured, above) in Cheshire and a pleasant evening in the company of owners, Peter and Deborah, to start, followed by the seaside at Llandudno (the cable car scared the bejesus out me I'm not ashamed to admit) and then the mountains of Snowdonia to finish. All wonderful and left me feeling like working for a living is no longer a 'good thing'. A sure sign of a good holiday.
Snowdonia was just gob-smacking. We stayed in a place called Llanberis which sits at the foot on Snowdon - it's a proper climbing hang-out, a little rough round the edges, but with the amazing Pete's Eats at its epicentre. We ate there a lot in two days, even breakfast once when the girl running our hotel didn't manage to get up in time to feed us on our first morning! A generous discount was negotiated.
Llanberis is also home to the Snowdon Mountain Railway which is as spectacular as things get. Opened in 1896, it's a railway up a mountain for no other reason than the Victorians could build a railway up a mountain. It is as awe-inspiring as it sounds. Sadly, they're building a cafe at the summit (!), so the train stops about a mile and some 300m short of the top until next year. I think we might be back.
There really is something quite magical about the area. It's hard to put into words, but I'm working on it!
And that is kind of us. Caryn and the kids seem to be enjoying the summer hols - there's been lots of late nights and lazy mornings which make a wonderful change from the usual chaos. And I'm working like a double dog which is better than not working at all, I guess.
I will, as I always do, promise to at least try and post on a regular basis. Please, no taking bets on how long it'll last. Or if you do, I'll have a fiver on under two days.
Sigh.
After what seems like an eternity, but is only in fact a week, Olivia lost her first tooth this morning. It's been wobbly for quite a while, but last weekend we noticed that it was hanging by a thread... and it continued to hang on all week despite much twisting, wobbling and complaining that she wanted my dad to get it out rather than me.
Anyway, in the usual morning chaos she proudly wandered into the the kitchen with the tooth in her hand looking very pleased with herself. She's cool is our little girl.
Apologies for the long post. Must, must find time to post less, more often.
Olivia seems to have been the focus of our weekend. She will always be our special little girl, but she can be enormously trying as she begins to grow up. I often wonder how she got to be so big. I can so clearly remember her as a baby that it sometimes seems like the beautiful five-year-old who lives with us can't be the same person.
Anyway, we don't seem to have stopped since about 5.30pm on Friday when we headed out to her school fete. It seemed like there was a three-line whip with the reception teachers who were all face painting (£1). This is Olivia with her teacher.
Anyway, from the fete we had go to straight to Luke's end of term party, the less said about that the better really, needless to say, it was some genius organisation to have it one the same day as the school fete.
The following day we headed to the church fete which was rather lovely. A proper old skool event with white elephant, coconut shy, Punch & Judy and so on. They had stocks and sponges too in which Caryn was subjected to a sustained, and I thought, quite vicious, attack from the little people.
It was held in the grounds of The Vicarage. Nice gaff. It's funny living somewhere like this - you can slowly but surely feel the church closing in on you. One day, we'll just find ourselves sat in church on Sunday and not really know why or how. That said, they were obviously responsible for the fantastic weather.
Today? Today I failed to fit a cat flap, but did get the grass cut and managed 10 minutes in the hammock. Didn't bother buying a paper.
So, anyway. It's either I've got too little to do, or too much to do. You can tell when it's too much by the lack of activity on here. There's certainly no shortage of activity in real life...
Just to catch up, last Wednesday night we were invited to a do at a nearby airfield (this one). The plan was to take a short flight in a Cessna if the weather held. Didn't look good for most of the day, but as we'd booked the babysitter we thought what the heck and headed out there anyway.
At about 8pm we took to the air - me in the co-pilot's chair, the wife and my mum in the back. What a hoot. We skirted Norwich on our right and headed for our house... like you do.
I don't know, but there's something about flying over your own house (we stuck a big white arrow on the roof so we could find it) that seems like a really good thing to do - like it's one of the items that should be on your life checklist. Flown over my own house. Check. It was a strange feeling as we circled round knowing that our babies were fast asleep 1,000 feet below.
Apparently, and of course I asked, for a private pilot's license you need a minimum of 45 hours flying time with lessons at around £80 an hour. Once you've passed you need a plane most of which are co-owned with a secondhand Cessna going for around £40k... then there's the fuel and the maintenance... and well, you need to quite rich to fly.
Maybe one day.
Sorry, really badly dropped out. Been stupidly, stupidly busy since the wedding the other week. Working in London two days a week and I am three working days from launch of our new football site.
While I try sort myself out, have a listen to this from Kanye West's new album. A. Maze. Ing.
STOP PRESS: Universal Music clearly don't want anyone listening to the amazing music their artists are making. The previously posted link from YouTube has been removed 'due to a copyright claim by Universal Music Group'.
Oh, look what I've found... Kanye West 'Stronger'. It really is amazing.
My little brother is now a married man. I wonder how many pictures get taken at weddings. I emptied out our digital camera tonight and on our own we'd taken 160 pictures!
So here's a picture no one else will have - this is Chris, parked up outside the church enjoying an ice cold beer before the madness decends. Just us two, sat in his car, taking a moment. Perfect.
The rest of the day wasn't bad either.
We've been terribly slack this week due to a family wedding at weekend. My little brother is getting hitched and I'm best man which means I've been having sleepless nights about the speech. Finally nailed it tonight... I think - I might share next week depending on how it goes down.
My biggest fear is not just standing up in front of 130 people, most of who I won't know from Adam, but that no one laughs at my jokes. Nothing new there really, but to have so many people not laughing at the same time is scary stuff. Reception kicks off at six, speeches aren't until 7.30pm, so I might stand a fighting chance.
And the lovely Landcroft House have tagged us which means we're it and have to reveal eight facts about ourselves before tagging five other blogs... do I even know five other blogs? Nope. If you're reading this and have a blog of your own please say hi and we'll tag you! Virtual cocktail party game here we come.
Won't be doing it now, need another sleepless night fretting over the speech.
I'm quite keen on playing golf. When we first moved here we lived on the same street as an 18-hole pitch and putt course. The perfect opportunity then, my brother even bought me a left-handed pitcher and putter. Of course, when we actually lived next door to a flipping golf course I made it as far as the bar on a couple of occasions, but I never made the first tee and the golf clubs have sat unused in the shed for almost three years.
On Saturday my brother turned up having been turfed out of his house so his wife as from next weekend could have her hen do. And off we went to Silfield Pitch & Putt. It was most enjoyable especially on the occasions I hit a nice shot (about twice I think), we only lost three balls, but we found one too which was handy, and I went round in under 100 which I consider no mean feat.
I'll hopefully make it more than once every three years now I've broken my duck. Quack.
At the risk of becoming a camping bore, this week we (when I say we, I just mean me) have been obsessing about the sleep deprivation problem encountered last weekend on our inaugural trip.
I asked around and it seems self-inflating mattresses (you open a valve and the mats suck the air in, like voodoo) are the way to go. There was also the suggestion that perhaps not enough wine was being drunk before bed, which is a fair point.
So, when me and Lukey were in Big Town this week we popped into Millets to try out said mats. And flipping heck, they were amazing, except for the price tag - around £70 for a decent one. A quick rummage round google and I found the amazing alpkit.com who served up a pair of their Fats direct to our door in 24 hours for £65. Great service and a lovely site. Some very tempting bits and bobs on there.
So, sleep here we come. Shame it's chucking it down or I'd have had the tent up in the garden to try them out.
We've been missing the footie - so we were pleased that last night Carrow Road played host to the England U21 side warming up for the U21 European Championships which kick-off this weekend. It's been some time since some proper football has been played on the hallowed turd, sorry, turf.
Rather pleasingly, they stuffed a tricky-looking Slovakia side who were out to frustrate. And it's not often you see a number 5 following the word England. Even the full England team could only put three past lowly Estonia tonight - a side who've played seven, lost seven and scored none.
What was really amazing was the 20,000 crowd that turned up. 20,000. But then I guess when you live somewhere like Norwich and like your football you've got to take your chances when they come your way.
After a week of anxious weather-watching, we headed North Norfolk way and to Kelling Heath for our first-ever, proper, not in our back garden, camping trip on Friday and made it home this morning, bleary-eyed, smelling not to bad at all and feeling rather pleased with ourselves.
The weather was fantastic, if not a bit weird, but that's weather in Norfolk for you. The glorious sunshine on Friday gave way as sea mist rolled in. The next morning it still hung over the campsite so we decided to head out in search of the sun via the pool at nearby Sheringham which comes fully fitted with wave machine and 150 foot water chute.
Luke was surprisingly keen to go down the slide, but it was no double rides so naturally I had to try it out first and, like most dads who spotted the timer at the end, spent the rest of the morning honing my technique chasing a sub eight second run. We were there for almost three hours, I don't think I've ever spent so long in a pool in my life.
Foodwise, we did well. We're pretty good on the cooking outside front thanks to the braii masterclasses over the years, and I'm beginning to perfect cooking on disposable BBQs, but the real triumph was breakfast on Saturday - bacon and egg rolls. Even if it was a little gas stove, there's something very pleasing about the sound and smell of bacon frying in the outdoors at that time of the morning. Next step is to cook it on an open fire!
All in all, it was a roaring success, but we do have to review the sleeping arrangements. A double airbed with two people on it does not a good night's sleep make. Needless to say, we're looking at other solutions...
The day we've always talked about has finally arrived. Today was the day when, all on her own, Olivia got up at a reasonable time (6.45am), headed downstairs, got her and Luke breakfast, turned the TV on and, well, just got on with it really.
Luke especially is super-hungry in the mornings what with the ritual shunning of tea the night before (unless it's chips) and the usual for him is to appear in our bed anytime from 5.50am onwards. He wriggles a bit, pretends to sleep for a bit and then starts the relentless 'I'm hungry' mantra until one of us - usually Caryn, as I pretend to have died in my sleep - gets up and feeds him.
Needless to say, this morning was quite a morning. Now, if we could teach her to feed the cats too...
Typically, from the moment half-term started at 3pm on Friday it seems to have been raining. It's always a tricky one entertaining when it's raining, but on Saturday morning we visited Planet Zoom for the first time.
Why we've not been there before is a mystery. We've got something along the same lines where we live, so I guess driving 10 miles seems a bit odd. Glad we did though because our two loved it. We paid for an hour and a half and the time just flashed by. In fact, they loved it so much they snubbed a swimming trip on Monday for a return visit.
Twice in three days was probably a bit much as the excitement wained after about an hour which isn't bad. Luke was super brave trying all sorts of things he wouldn't normally do, including going down the enormous swirly slide (pictured) on his own.
It's also weatherwatch week at Ebenezer Terrace. We've our first 'proper' camping trip this weekend. When we bought the tent the idea was we could just clear off when the weather was nice.
Seems it doesn't quite work like that - the good places get booked up early doors, so we've booked up a few places over the summer and will be at the mercy of the English weather. Should put us off camping sharpish... or we'll take up camping in the back garden.
Firstly, an apology - especially to Louise, whose own blog we're eagerly awaiting - for not posting anything since Monday. It's tricky fitting all this children, school, nursery, wife at college, earning a living, sleeping, eating thing into a week.
Every second seems to have been filled with something or other and I've even been going to bed late to fit it all in. yes, I know.
So anyway, a couple of emails popped in last night from James whose kitchen we really like. His daughter had quite the best birthday party last weekend - it was kind of an Edwardian fairground extravaganza, with games like splat the rat and lucky dip and popping balloons.
The children all had a bag each and ran around winning prizes and filling their bags with sweets. It was really different. I think children have come to expect certain things from parties - entertainer, bouncy castle etc, so this was a real curve ball and you could see the confusion on some faces to begin with. It was excellent though.
They also had one of these put your face through the holes things. And that's what the email was... pics of our children popping their heads through the holes. Thanks James.
